This is getting posted a little late (again) ... am now at Middlebury, after a weekend jaunt to Boston to visit Dara and Acovio.
When I travel, I indulge in all the food vices I eschew the rest of the year: white bread, doughnuts, pop tarts, pizza, ice cream shakes. Normally the aberration in my diet, these become my staples, mostly because there is no other choice. McDonald's. Dunkin' Donuts, and Sbarros are the names I associate with bus station fare. But partly there is the abandonment of the tourist: just this once, just today.
Today I am eating a cinnamon sugar pop tart aboard a Greyhound bus traveling from Port Authority in Manhattan to South Station in Boston. I am freezing in the gray rain, just after adjusting to the heat in NYC; I am reading The Shadow Lines and, as this four hour ride just became a five hour ride due to traffic, have almost finished, happily, so that I can cross off another novel from my lengthy list. This is the third novel I've read since school ended, after Midnight's Children and The Inheritance of Loss. Still, I feel under-prepared for Bread Loaf, having hoped to finish all of my reading ahead of time, partly to be ahead of the game and partly to spend my time reading critics. I want to put my finger on the pulse of criticism today, and see what I make of it. Am I ready to become such a critic myself?
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